


wrapped in light, in life, in love

by tomorrows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, the mpreg isn't much sorry good bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrows/pseuds/tomorrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It should be embarrassing — it is a bit embarrassing, actually, because he can feel Lila watching over him like a hawk, but Louis’ got a palm on his thigh and there’s a cherry red lollipop in his hand and Harry feels so bloody dizzy with butterflies. He brings the lollipop to his mouth and sure enough, the sweet cherry flavor feels more therapeutic than anything, like it’s made from warm hugs and naps by the fireplace. He’s too busy falling in love all over again to be embarrassed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“S’good, innit?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry nods his head. He feels like a child, but it’s okay because Louis is there and he’s staring right at him, blue eyes consumed by Harry before him. Being at the center of Louis’ attention is just as overwhelming as Harry remembers it being fifteen years ago.</em>
</p><p><em></em>Of all the things to happen while taking care of his niece for a month, falling in love with his boyhood crush all over again is probably the highlight of Harry’s autumn.</p><p>Well. That, and getting pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wrapped in light, in life, in love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radadusta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radadusta/gifts).



> hiya! this is for [ros](http://www.radadusta.tumblr.com), the only girl who can make me write 19k of fluff instead of studying for midterms. happy belated birthday, darling!!
> 
> big love to sam and emily and leah, most of all ♥
> 
> title is from ed sheeran's "afire love"
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.tornorrows.tumblr.com)

"I'm sure he'll show up."

Gemma looks across the table and her eyes are scornful, seconds away from outright rage. Harry carefully moves their butter knives to the side as a precautionary measure, because you can never really be sure when Gemma is involved. His sister looks ready to explode and Harry can't really blame her. There’s only so much you can let slide when the father of your child decides that being a dad at 24 “isn’t really his thing”.

In a text.

"He's a fucking prick anyway," she seethes. "I don't even want to see his face anymore."

"Gem—"

"No, Harry, don't you give him the benefit of the doubt. Fuck him; he's always been a childish piece of shit running away from his problems. I can't believe I genuinely expected him to show up. I feel like a fucking idiot. He always makes me out to be the fucking idiot, can you believe that?" With every _fuck_ her voice gets higher and higher, the people around them slowly starting to take notice and cast wary glances. Gemma isn't exactly on her Sunday best for brunch right now, but Harry can't blame her for that either. "Men are worthless," Gemma declares. She slaps two twenties on the table and stands to her feet, October air blowing her wayward strands from her piercing eyes. She's intimidating on a normal day, but right now she's completely terrifying; a woman without remorse. "All they wanna do is drop their fucking load in you so you can get pregnant and they can fuck off. Listen to me Harry," she reaches out her hand and helps her younger brother out of his seat. They walk out of the cafe and onto the bustling streets of London, hand in hand and equally outraged. She waits until they reach a stoplight to continue. "Don't ever let a man get you pregnant, H," she says in a flat voice.

"Gemma—"

"I'm serious, Harry," Gemma interrupts with a shake of her head. "I know you’ve always wanted kids, but you have too much going for you. Get pregnant on your own wishes, go ahead, but don't let some idiot Yorkshire wanker impregnate you during a shitty hookup. Celibacy is good for you."

Harry has to roll his eyes at that. "I _know_ you don't give a shit about celibacy."

"Well I didn't, and look where I ended up." She looks down at the barely noticeable (6 weeks along) bump she's got now and lets out a trembling sigh, disappointment mixed with sadness mixed with fear. It makes Harry sad just looking at her; that she has to spend even a minute of her new pregnancy unhappy is a minute too much. "Men suck," she says to her belly," almost like a warning to her future child.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault." The light turns green and they start walking again. Gemma's palm is a sweaty mess against Harry's, but he ignores it and instead squeezes tighter. "Just be smarter than me. Don't let your guard down for a pretty face and a semi-decent cock. Lord knows that's always been a tough one for you."

Harry shrugs. "Guess that runs in the family."

Gemma laughs, then Harry laughs, and they pretend like everything is okay for a while. They roam the streets for a bit before stopping by the farmer’s market and then taking the tube back home. It’s a sunny day in October – just the perfect level of chilly and crisp – and the two of them pretend for a few hours that it’s not really that big a deal that Gemma’s 6 weeks pregnant and apparently raising this child on her own.

At least, they pretend until they can’t, until they get back to Gemma's flat and she sees her pregnancy tests from the morning still on the edge of the bathroom counter. That's when she finally cracks and that’s when it all begins to feel real.

•••

**5 Years Later**

“Uncle Harry do not kiss me before you have brushed your teeth thank you.”

Harry looks down at his four year old niece with her face stuffed in her pillow, and fishmouths in shock. Her behavior at seven in the morning, _honestly_. She's barely awake! Lila stretches her palm out to push Harry’s face away before feeling around to hold his mouth shut.

“M’going back to sleep,” she declares – doesn’t just say it, she declares it, like it’s a subject not up for discussion.  

But it’s her first day of pre-school so Harry does what all good uncles do: he pulls the covers off his niece’s tiny little body and picks her up, throws her over his shoulder, and carries her to the bathroom.

“Harry!” Lila stretches, kicking her legs out in earnest and wiggling in his arms. “Put me down, mister, I need to go to sleep!”

“You _need_ to brush your teeth and get ready for school.”

“I don’t need school! I need to sleep!”

Harry treks through the halls toward the bathroom, carefully stepping over the footballs and teddy bears and toy blocks littered all over the floor, and manages to only end both his and Lila’s life just once on his way, so he considers it a win. It’s not like having a four year old trying to jump out of his arms makes it easier, either, so it’s a commendable effort, to say the least, especially if the piercing frown on said four year’s old face is anything to go by.

Lila waits to be put down on the lid of the toilet seat to cross her arms and seethe to her uncle, “You sir are not my type of pal.”

“Alright,” Harry shrugs, moving to stand in front of the bathroom door so Lila doesn’t make a run for it (she has on multiple occasions) (like: yesterday), “I just hope you know that pals only make chocolate chip pancakes for their pals, so.”

“M’not hungry.”

“You sure?”

Lila doesn’t bother replying, instead just bears her teeth like an aggressive newborn kitten on the offensive and hops off the toilet seat to grab her toothbrush. She looks ridiculous, thick brown hair frizzy and disheveled, mouth filled with foamy toothpaste as she glares at her reflection, one leg of her pajama pants halfway up her calf with the other past her knee. She has to stand on her steps just to see herself in the mirror, so she’s more cute than she is intimidating, unsurprisingly, and Harry doesn't know how he's going to survive an entire month with this tiny ball of fury.

Lila brushes her teeth aggressively, never once letting up the furrow of her brows. By the time she's ready to rinse out her mouth her entire chin and half her face is covered in minty, bubbly toothpaste foam. As she rinses her mouth and washes her face Harry brushes his own teeth and only gets a slightly exasperated sigh from Lila who has to wait for him before she can leave the bathroom. (She still can reach the doorknob properly yet, much to her displeasure.)

"Are we still not pals?" Harry asks as he opens the door and lets her out.

"Absolutely not!" Lila screeches. And before Harry can even respond, his niece is sprinting right back to her bedroom shouting off the top of her lungs, "I still want those pancakes, mister!"

"Wear something warm and you've got a deal!" Harry shouts down the hall once he's come to his senses.

"I'm wearing my Spider-Man t-shirt!"

Harry mulls it over for a second. Fuck it. Lila loves her Spider-Man and the poor kid needs to make a good impression on her first day of school anyway. No one can resist a good Spidey top. He'll just make sure she takes her dearly beloved jean jacket with her.

"Fine!" Harry calls out. "Breakfast will be ready in ten! Come a second late and I'm eating your stack."

"You wouldn't dare!"

And of course Lila always has to have the last word in every conversation. Harry shrugs his shoulders and heads over to the kitchen where he begins to get breakfast together - because his sister is away with work and he's watching his four year old niece for a month and unofficially, his life revolves around the whims of that very four year old. Brilliant.

+

Later that morning Harry drops Lila off at school on his way to work. The four year old had settled on her favorite red and white Spider-Man shirt, just as she'd insisted she would, and grudgingly topped it off with her favorite jean jacket and pair of bright white Converse to match.

They've only been living together for three days now - since Gemma had left to New Zealand to work on her research - but Harry's known Lila since she was just a little peanut in his sister's belly, so the last thing he's worried about is her having a poor first day. Lila is spontaneous and loud and much too clever for her own good, but she's also witty and giggly and unabashedly interested in twenty different things all at once. So for once in Harry's life, his maternal instincts don't kick in and he surprisingly doesn't end up bawling his eyes out when he walks his niece inside the school and Lila hugs him goodbye.

"Don't be late!" she reminds Harry with a stern index finger to his face. "We gotta—"

"—Because we gotta see Tommo, I know, I know," Harry says in exasperation, still crouched down to her tiny height. "Jeez, Lil, I've never met someone _excited_ to go to the doctor. How can I be sure 'Tommo' isn't just code for the park or something?"

When he looks up from fixing the fluffy collar of her jacket, he finds Lila glaring at him. For a moment he worries that her face will be permanently stuck like that for the next month.

"What?"

"Don't make fun of Tommo, Harru."

And that's how Harry knows she means business, because only when she's frustrated does she get a little tongue tied and call Harry, Harru.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry quickly apologizes, putting both hands up in surrender. "Won't happen again, I promise."

" _Good_. Tommo is a very nice mister, you gotta be _nice_ to him."

"I'll be on my best behavior just for you."

Lila crosses her arms and fixes him with a judging stare, her watery green eyes roaming his face all over like she's trying to put together whether or not Harry is really a man of his word. He's got a long month ahead of him if this is what he's got in store.

"Alright, that's it, that's enough scowling at me for one day, missy." He leans over to press a final kiss to Lila's cheek before standing up straight. "Have a good day in class, okay? Be nice to your classmates and I'll be right here to pick you up in a few hours. Sound good?"

Lila shrugs her small shoulders and sighs, "I mean I _guess_."

"Just think about getting to see Doctor Tommo after school. We can get pizza afterward if you're good, too."

Lila narrows her eyes, head tilted back a bit so she can still keep eye contact with Harry. "Not gross healthy pizza like last time, right?"

"Absolutely no broccoli will be involved this time, you've got my word on it."

Behind them, parents say their final goodbyes and start heading out of the classroom. Lila quickly grabs Harry's hand and shakes it in agreement. "You are making a lot of promises today, pal," she says warningly. "You better keep them."

And even as authoritative (and slightly threatening as she sounds), she still pulls her uncle down for a kiss before eagerly scampering off to her classroom. Harry feels only the smallest bit heartbroken at how easily Lila carries herself in every situation, new or not, because maybe if she could just stop growing up for a year or two, then Harry could finally wrap his head around how fast that tiny ball of energy has grown into a proper, sharp-mouthed sweetheart. Everything is happening far too quickly for his own liking.

So Harry doesn't end up _bawling_ his eyes out when he drops Lila off that morning - because he does have some self-control, thank you very much - but that's only because he _gently weeps_ during his drive to work. It’s no big deal.

+

It’s not that Harry _hates_ going to the doctor. No, hate is far too strong a word. Harry is simply not a fan of doctors and dentists and people who think that poking his body with needles is supposed be a normal, healthy thing. Admittedly, he was _that kid_ at every doctor’s office - the one bawling their eyes out from just the sterile stench of the waiting room. At least he’s always been a very endearing crier; big green eyes going puffy, lips thick from being bitten so roughly, cheeks pink and tear-stained. He could make crying look like an art, which only made going to the doctor as a child that much worse, because no one ever had the heart to give cherubic little Harry Styles his shots until Anne had to practically force them.

So Harry doesn’t really know what it is, but not much has changed from when he was five and being dragged by his mum to Dr. Peterson. Except now it’s him being dragged by his four year old niece to see Dr. Tommo for her appointment, and somehow he’s still sweaty in his jumper and tugging at his sleeves, willing his heart to perhaps slow the fuck down.

“Uncle Harry? Are you okay?”

Harry looks down at the floor of the waiting room where Lila is sat playing around with some Legos. “I’m okay, love. Just a bit tired.”

Lila tilts her head to the side and frowns, “Mummy said you don’t like the doctor’s.”

Of course Gemma had told her that. She’d warned Harry about Lila’s obsession with Dr. Tommo, so he’s not surprised Gemma also warned Lila that Harry’s not exactly going to react to her best friend too well. In Lila’s defense, she spent the entire car ride over going on and on about her first day of school, probably to distract her uncle, so at least she's aware and proactive. Harry has to give her props; she’s kind of the coolest four year old ever. And he runs a daycare, so that's saying a lot.

Lila quickly forgets about her Legos and putters over to climb onto Harry’s lap and plop down. “You know," she starts, "if you don’t cry, Tommo will give you sweets.”

“What kind of sweets?” Harry chuckles despite himself.

“I like the cherry lollies, but he also has th—”

Lila is interrupted then by a receptionist calling out her name, informing them that Dr. Tomlinson is ready to see him. Harry takes a shaky breath and stands up, hitching Lila up on his hip and walking over to the door.

“Remember not to cry,” Lila whispers in his ear like a secret, “sometimes Tommo will give you _two_ sweets if you’re extra good.” She kisses his temple encouragingly and Harry heads into the doctor’s office more giggly than anything for the first time in his life.

+

Lila gets weighed and has her height taken and eyes checked by a young, petite brunette. Harry stands aside, listening as his niece talks the poor girl’s ear off, going on about her first day of school. It’s the same spiel Harry had to listen to in the car, so luckily he can mostly tune her out and giggle at their interaction.

He’s watching Lila step off the scale when the door opens and a loud voice cheers, “Oi! I knew all that rambling had to mean my favorite person in the world was here!”

Harry’s barely got a chance to look up before Lila is running across the small room in just her bright green socks and jumping into the person's arms. The man - who Harry quickly assumes is the famous Tommo - picks her up with the kind of ease that almost worries Harry for a second, because why is Lila so close to her pediatrician? Is that even normal? He’s about to clear his throat and put an end to it when the man turns around and Harry gets a proper look at his face and — _oh_.

Oh, fuck fucking blubbering shitty fuck. This must be some kind of cruel joke. There’s _no way_ this is actually happening and Harry is actually here right now, more than ten years later, staring at Louis Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson, pediatrician. Louis Tomlinson, Gemma’s closest childhood friend before he left to Doncaster. Louis Tomlinson, who single-handedly ignited Harry infamous Gay Awakening, as Niall had referred to it all throughout secondary school.

“ _Shit_ ,” he curses under his breath, head dizzy with the reality of it all.

He barely registers the poor brunette glancing at him in worry before she rushes over to help him into a seat. He nods his head when she asks if he’s okay and tries to keep the blush off his cheeks when she gives him a disbelieving pat on the shoulder and leaves the room. Now, if Harry could just get himself to look up and meet Louis’ eye —

“Harry?”

 _Speak of the devil_ , Harry thinks to himself silently. It takes him another minute and a half before he gets the courage to pick his head up and _God_ , it’s been what? Ten? Fifteen years? And Louis still makes him weak in the knees, even when he’s sat down.

“Hi,” he barely manages to squeak out.

Louis stands in front of the door, Lila on his hip and head tilted to the side. There’s that same playful smirk on his lips, a little bit curious and coy, the same one that pulled Harry in when he could barely write his own name in cursive. He doesn’t look like the did when he was 12, though. He’s taller now, shoulders more broad and cheekbones sharp. He’s got a beard now too, perfectly trimmed and rough down his neck, but his eyes are still the same piercing, mischievous, overwhelming blue that Harry fell head over heels for way back when.

“You okay there, mate?” Louis asks, making his way over to set Lila down on the examination table. His voice is cool, calm, completely unlike the squeaks that Harry can only just muster together. It still has that faint raspiness to it that Harry wishes he didn’t remember.

“Uncle Harry doesn’t like the doctor’s,” Lila quickly informs him.

Louis turns to Harry with his delicately curved eyebrow raised high. “Is this true, Harold?” he asks, a little humor to his voice. “I can’t remember if Gem told me to watch out for you or not. Definitely mentioned you were still a handful, though.”

And oh, _God_ , why would Gemma tell Louis about that too? Lila is one thing, but Louis — _Louis_ , _the_ Louis, is completely different. She couldn’t warn Harry that he would be reuniting with his oldest childhood crush, but she somehow had the time to phone Louis and tell him to ‘watch out’ for Harry? That girl is unbelievable.

“I told him you’ll give him sweets if he doesn’t cry—”

“Lila!” Harry quickly interrupts, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.

Louis hears it anyway, though, and Harry thinks maybe he hears something like a soft _Awww_ in between Louis’ giggles, but he can’t be sure _because his brain is fucking whirling out of control_.

“Here.” Louis walks over to the shelf by the side of the room and opens up a jar of candy. He comes back with a bright red lollipop between his fingers and crouches down until he’s eye level with Harry. “I know Lila likes the red ones best. Figure that probably runs in the family.” He hands it over and even goes so far to unwrap it for him. “It won’t kill you, love, you look like you could use a bit of sugar right now anyway.”

It should be embarrassing — it is a bit embarrassing, actually, because he can feel Lila watching over him like a hawk, but Louis’ got a palm on his thigh and there’s a cherry red lollipop in his hand and Harry feels so bloody dizzy with butterflies. He brings the lollipop to his mouth and sure enough, the sweet cherry flavor feels more therapeutic than anything, like it’s made from warm hugs and naps by the fireplace. He's too busy falling in love all over again to be embarrassed.

“S’good, innit?”

Harry nods his head. He feels like a child, but it’s okay because Louis is there and he’s staring right at him, blue eyes consumed by Harry before him. Being at the center of Louis’ attention is just as overwhelming as Harry remembers it being fifteen years ago.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, blue boring into green, but eventually Lila clears her throat a bit too loudly to be considered normal and Louis stands up, snapping his attention back to reality. “Right, okay,” he says, shaking his head as he chuckles and steps away from Harry. “Lila, my love, let’s see how you’ve been doing.”

+

Harry doesn’t know what happens to him, but somehow he spends the next fifteen minutes in a complete daze. He’s aware of the giant hearts that have probably taken root in his eyes, but even that can’t stop him from licking at his lollipop and watching Louis move around the room and talk with Lila, the two of them giggling and getting into a discussion about Spider-Man and whatever it is that pediatricians talk to their four year old patients about. It’s clear from the very beginning that Louis is a natural with kids, and that doesn’t surprise Harry the least; he remembers the older man having a litter of younger sisters right before they moved to Donny.

And when Louis has to give Lila her shots, he does it with such a calming, smooth voice that even Harry finds himself completely distracted by his bright giggle as he tells some ridiculously poor joke about a mushroom going to a party and then laughs right at his own joke. It’s stupid and awfully endearing and before Harry knows it, Louis’ sticking Spider-Man plasters to Lila’s arm and helping her off the table.

“Is that it?” Harry asks, a little surprised at how disappointed he sounds even to his own ears.

“I mean, yeah,” Louis shrugs. He brings the jar of sweets down so Lila can dig her arm in and pick something out. “Lil looks to be in great shape, unless there’s something you wanted to discuss?”

Lila looks up at him, one lollipop in her mouth and hand still rummaging around for another.

“No, no, I guess that’s all.”

“Great.” Louis waits for Lila to get her second pick before putting the jar back in its spot and picking her up. “Let’s head out and schedule your next appointment, alright?”

And despite his original near-breakdown, Harry thinks to himself as they walk out that he handled the rest of the appointment rather well. He didn’t blubber a declaration of love or drool down his chin. He’s successfully endured a good fifteen minutes in the presence of Louis Tomlinson, something that only took him, like, a good chunk of his adult life to master.

Of course, just as he’s thinking this is when his eyes land on Louis’ bum in his painfully tight trousers and he walks face first into a wall.

“Ouch, _shit_ ,” he curses under his breath, rubbing at his forehead.

“You okay?” Louis asks, quickly turning around to see what'd happened.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mumbles sheepishly. He refuses to look at Louis while answering him. “Just forgot to watch where I’m going.”

Lila shakes her head in exasperation where she’s still held up in Louis’ arms. “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds,” she sighs.

“Oi, be nice to Harold,” Louis chides. “C’mhere,” he calls for Harry, one hand out. Harry fits his free hand into Louis’ and takes a few steps closer, until he’s a foot away. Louis brushes away the curls from his forehead and gently moves his hand aside to inspect the spot Harry’d been rubbing at. “Doesn’t look like it’ll be much more than a bruise, if that,” he states. “You’ll be fine, just as long as you watch where you’re going next time.” He eyes quickly flit down to meet Harry's, and that’s really all it takes for the blush to creep up on his cheeks.

“Can Uncle Harry get a Spidey plaster also?”

Louis glances at Lila and then turns back to Harry. “Would you like one?” he asks.

“Okay,” Harry decides without much thought, shrugging, before the logical _adult_ part of his brain kicks in and reminds him that he is a 26 year old _man_ who doesn't need a Spider-Man plaster stuck to his forehead.

Louis puts Lila down and digs his hands through his pockets, eventually coming up with a red and green Spider-Man plaster.

“Do you just carry those in your pocket at all times?” Harry chuckles.

Louis shrugs nonchalantly and steps closer, peeling the backs off. “Never know when a cute boy’s going to need some saving, right?” he whispers. He runs his fingers through Harry’s fringe under the guise of pushing it back so he can stick on the plaster, but then he goes in and presses a small kiss right over it and Harry all but collapses on the floor right there. “All better?” Louis asks, taking a step back.

There’s a sweetness to his voice so entirely consuming that Harry finds himself breathing out dazedly, “Perfect.”

•••

Later that night when Harry is on the phone with Gemma, he finds out that after leaving to Doncaster Louis had studied in London and then moved to Manchester where he'd opened up his own practice with a close mate of his from med school. A friend of a friend had recommended him to Gemma whilst she’d been pregnant and she’d gone in completely unaware that Dr. Tomlinson was the same _Louis Tomlinson_ who used to stick berries in her hair and bury her shoes in the backyard when they were younger. Since then he’s been with Gemma through every step of Lila’s birth, usually as more than just her pediatrician and Gemma’s old friend. They've long rekindled their close friendship and Gemma has not a single bad thing to say about him, but that's always been the case, if Harry's memory serves him right. (Apparently, utterly adoring Louis is a trait that runs in all members of the Styles family's genes.)

“But why didn’t you _tell me_?” Harry groans into his phone, clutching his face in his hand. Even hours later his face feels permanently warm from his blushes, Louis' Spider-Man plaster still on his forehead, hidden underneath his curls, and the faint memory of the kiss he pressed against it ghosting over.

“H, as much as I do adore you to the moon and back, I’ve got a four year old daughter and a PhD that have left me with my hands tied until the end of time. Your ancient crush on 10 year old Louis Tomlinson wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind when I rang to remind you about the appointment, you know.”

And, okay. She has a point, but still. “How am I supposed to just go on with my life now? His office is, like, ten minutes from my flat, Gem. I could run into him at any moment. What do I do then! You know I'm not very good with self control!”

“Well, first of all, you could tone it down with all the dramatization, princess. It’s been more than a decade since you’ve last seen each other, H. You couldn’t even ride a bike without your training wheels the last time Louis saw you. And look at you now, Mr. Hot-Shot Motorcycle Driver.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s bright gold and glittered, it barely counts.”

“Louis hangs around drooling babies and gossipy receptionists all day, I’m sure a glittered motorcycle would be, like, the highlight of his year.”

Harry’s ears perk up in interest and he sits up, a light blush warming his cheeks yet again. “You think?” he asks, biting into his lip. “He looks so good now, Gem. I mean, I know I fancied him like mad when I was a kid, but Jesus — have you _seen_ him lately? I nearly drooled just sitting there watching him.”

“...Sitting there watching him," Gemma repeats, half in awe and half in confusion.

“Well, yeah. During Lila's check-up. He’s, like, a really great person to just sit and admire, you know?”

“Oh, sweetie,” she sighs on the other end of the line. “You are in far too deep already.”

“Yet again.”

“Look, H, I’ve gotta head out, but don’t doubt yourself, alright? You’re a beautiful, kind person, and I’ve only ever said great things about you to Lou since. You’re not eight years old anymore, you _can_ just ring him up and ask him out now, you know.”

“He’s not seeing anyone?” Harry nearly squeals, trying to contain the excitement bubbling inside him.

“Not since he moved from London, I don’t think. Said he’s too busy usually and his last boyfriend was a prick.”

“Oh.” Harry deflates a little at that, slightly upset not only at the thought of Louis with someone, but also at the thought of Louis with someone who doesn’t treat him like he hung the moon and the stars and all the space in the galaxies in between.

"Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetie,” Gemma says, “Lou’s a big boy now, he can take care of himself. Give Lil a kiss for me and I’ll speak to you both tomorrow, alright?”

Harry promises to both and ends the call with a tender _love you, see you soon_ before crawling under his covers. All of the excitement from her first day of school and getting to see Louis had worn Lila out early in the night. Harry had tucked her in before Gemma had called, so it’s just him and his bed and the dark of the Manchester night. He’s been in his flat for four months now, but he’s been sleeping poorly since, his body not used to the shift from the quiet of Holmes Chapel. Surprisingly though, that night Harry falls asleep easily, his thoughts consumed with memories of a young, lanky Louis Tomlinson and bright blues.

•••

**22 Years Earlier**

It’s late in the summer when Lottie is born. Harry is four and doesn’t know what that means or who Lottie is, but he notices that Louis doesn’t come over to play with Gemma for a week and that makes him sad. Over the last few months he’s gotten used to waking up every morning and finding Louis already in the kitchen helping mum with breakfast or in the backyard trying to teach Dusty how to play football. Louis is six years old, like Gemma, and they go to school together — mum tells Harry that he’s not allowed to go with them just yet — but when they have play time Louis always makes sure to invite Harry along. Even sometimes when Gemma gets huffy and wants her friend all to herself, Louis will still tighten his hand around Harry’s and tell her to get over it.

Louis makes Harry feel important.

The week that Lottie is born is rainy and gross and lonely and finally comes to an end on Saturday morning when Gemma wakes Harry up by jumping on his bed, squealing and informing him through breathy laughs to get up and get ready, they’re going over to the Tomlinson’s for brunch and meeting Louis’ baby sister.

“Baby sister?” Harry asks, fists rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Yes!” Gemma hollers. She jumps on the bed again and goes high in the air, her thin brown hair swinging like a wild halo. “Her name is Charlotte and we gotta see her! Louis says she’s the size of a football, Haz, come on! We gotta go!”

She doesn’t wait for Harry to come to his senses on his own and chooses to jump off the bed, dragging him with her. She helps him with his bath and by the time it’s noon and dad’s come back from the shop, Harry is bubbling with excitement so palpable that during the car ride over Anne has to tell Gemma to hold his legs down so he’ll stop kicking gleefully.

When they get to the Tomlinson house, Harry stands at the front of his family and reaches up on his tippy-toes to push the bell and then knock on the door. It feels like a hundred lifetimes pass before the door finally opens and Louis pops his head out.

“Hi!” he grins, all of his little chiclet teeth on display. He opens the door wider, just as Jay’s voice calls out a, _Is that them, love?_ to Louis. “Yes, mummy!” Louis yells over his shoulder. Harry watches him with wide eyes when he turns back around and asks in one quick breath, “Hi Mrs. Styles hi Mr. Styles would you like to come meet my new sister please?”

The next few moments are lost in a shuffle of bodies and shoes and hellos, only getting worse when Jay brings Lottie down from her crib.

“I thought her name was Charlotte?” Harry mumbles into Louis’ ear while they wait at the bottom of the stairs like guards for Louis’ mum.

“It is,” Louis tell him, “but I like Lottie better, so we’re gonna call her that.”

Harry thinks Louis is the most important person he knows.

It isn’t until an hour or so later when Harry is sat down the couch and everyone else has cooed and coddled little Lottie that Jay looks to him and asks if he’d like to hold her perhaps. Harry turns to his mum, eyes wide and pleading. “Can I?” he asks, nervous but also excited at the prospect of holding a football-sized human being in his arms. He wonders if other people know of football-sized humans too, or if Lottie is the first of her kind.

“Sure, love, just be careful, okay?” Anne puts down her tea and stands to pick Lottie up from Mark’s arms and bring her over.

“Can I teach him?” Louis asks from beside Harry, sitting up straight. He’s had an entire week of practice, he reminds Anne; he’s a self-proclaimed natural.

“‘Course, sweetie,” Anne chuckles.

She sits down next to him and carefully settles Lottie into his arms. Harry watches intently as Louis wraps his arms underneath his sister's body and brings her to his chest. “Hi baby,” he whispers against her forehead, pressing a gentle kiss. “M’gonna give you to Harry now, but you’ll like him. Be nice please, I love you very much a lot.”

Harry isn’t sure if Louis does that every time he holds his new sister, but before he knows it Louis is turning around and instructing Harry to scoot back and hold out his arms. The seconds move like hours as Louis transfers her over, and then Harry blinks and there’s a tiny person in his arms staring back at him. Little curls of blond halo her face and her cheeks are chubby, kind of like Harry’s own right now. He wants to poke one of them, but he realizes belatedly that his hands are busy. He’s only faintly aware of Louis’ arm underneath his, just in case, and the other around him, chin hooked over his shoulder.

“She is very cute,” Harry concedes after a moment.

“I think so too,” Louis mumbles in agreement against the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

Harry tears his glance from Lottie for a second to meet Louis’ eyes, a watery blue this morning. Louis smiles at him sweetly and it makes Harry feel happy, giggly, bigger than he really is. “I want one, too,” he confesses.

And he’s not sure why, but for some reason that makes all the adults in the room break into laughter, all of them watching Louis and Harry huddled together on the couch with fondness in their eyes. Louis shrugs his shoulder like he’s not in on the joke either and ignores them. Instead he presses a reassuring kiss to Harry’s blushing cheek and whispers, “I think you’re a natural also, Hazza.”

•••

Harry is 26 years old. Harry is a 26 year old daycare-running uncle with a plan. It’s not the best plan — probably not the most moral one either — but he wakes up on Tuesday an inspired man. It’s a simple plan, really, one that utilizes the resources around him efficiently and will provide him with the desired result. Which is his way of justifying using Lila to get a date with Louis. Standard adult things.

He considers filling Lila in at first, but then he remembers that the only Styles family member worse than him at lying is Lila. He’s even second-guessing his own ability, but then before he knows it it’s Thursday afternoon and he’s calling the pediatrician’s office to schedule an appointment. Lucky for him, a visit to Louis’ is a trip for Lila, who spends the entire car ride blabbering excitedly about how thrilled she is to be seeing Louis _twice_ in one week.

“Do you think I can get more shots?” she asks from her booster seat.

It’s a red light and Harry is trying to calm his nerves and Lila mentioning Louis’ name in every other sentence isn’t helping his case.

“I wonder if Louis has another Spidey plaster.”

His chest tightens a little more.

“You want to get one too? Did you like the one Louis gave you last time?”

The drive itself is barely fifteen minutes, but it feels much longer as anticipation thrums through Harry’s system. He drives with half his attention on the road and the other on Lila’s voice, a constant chatter of Louis this and Louis that and Spider-man this and Spider-man that. By the time they’re in the waiting room, Harry knees are shaking and his hands are sweaty and Lila is beside him, drawing circles in his palm.

“Uncle Harry?”

Harry tears his attention away from the receptionist’s window and turns to his niece. “Yes, Lil?” he asks sweetly, because he’s going to need her on her best behavior.

Of course, that’s precisely when Lila decides to ask, “Why is your hand so icky?” and the receptionist calls out her name.

Well, it’s not the stupidest thing Harry’s ever done.

+

It’s Thursday afternoon and Louis looks divine. His dress shirt is a warm, purple color and his shoes are polished black perfectly. His tie is loosened a bit, little purple polka dots scattered across it and his fuzzy green stethoscope hung around his neck, the silly one that Harry remembers from last time with the little frog at the end of it. He recalls faintly a nine year old Louis telling him once that he looked like a little froggy when he smiled. He wonders if Louis still thinks that and finds himself unconsciously smiling, partly from the memory, but mostly because Louis is currently sat on the examination table with Lila, braiding her hair.

“So this is what you scheduled an appointment for?” Louis asks, hands still preoccupied with Lila’s curls. “Would’ve guessed you the braiding type, Curly.”

Harry blushes at the old nickname. “The braids aren’t the problem. M’quite good, actually.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Lila scoffs. Sitting across the room from her, Harry doesn’t miss how she rolls her eyes and gets a small chuckle out of Louis.

He reaches the end of his braid and ties it with a small scrunchie — that he pulls out of his pocket, oddly enough — and then hops off the table. His fluffy fringe bounces with his jump and Harry finds it so painfully endearing that he has to pitch his thigh just to keep from cooing.

“So, what’s this appointment about? Jessie mentioned something about a fever?” Louis pulls out Lila’s chart and scans it, eyebrows furrowing as he looks over the notes.

“Um, yeah,” Harry lies poorly, repeating the story he told the receptionist this morning when making the appointment. “Her temperature’s been a bit high, I didn’t know if I—”

Lila shuffles over to look past Louis’ body and straight at Harry, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Harry would interpret the look as a clear _what the fuck are you talking about you giant knob?_ if Lila were 15 years older and capable of critical thinking. Instead she sits there patiently and sticks her tongue out for Louis to take her temperature.

“She seems to be fine now,” Louis says, reading the thermometer in his hands. “Barely half a degree above normal. That’s weird.”

Harry coughs into his sweaty fist, “Yeah,” another cough. “Weird.”

Louis scribbles something into Lila’s chart and then turns to ask her how she’s been feeling. A normal guardian would probably step in and listen to the conversation, seeing as the entire thing is a sham that Harry created without Lila’s knowledge, but unfortunately, Harry is not like every guardian. At least, not when Louis turns around and Harry gets a perfect view of Louis’ bum in his black trousers, round and perky and unbelievably welcoming. Harry’s mouth waters and he tunes the entire conversation between Louis and Lila out, instead finds himself in awe of how thick Louis’ thighs are, how the belt across his hips makes tiny dimples of love at the base of his spine, and how the muscles of his back flex underneath the soft purple when he picks Lila up in his arms and turns to face Harry.

“You alright, Curly?”

Harry snaps out of his daze and swallows a deep breath. “Brilliant,” he chokes out. “Everything good with Lil?”

“She should be fine. Could have just been a weird reaction to her flu shot, but if anything happens—” Louis pauses to transfers Lila to his other arm and dig into his pocket — _God, he’s got an entire fucking Pandora’s Box in there_ , Harry thinks — to pull out a small card. “Call my mobile number first next time, that way you won’t have to worry about waiting for an appointment. Lila here says you’re quite the worry wart.”

Harry catches Lila’s eye. She’s grinning like mad, teeth out even though she’s missing her bottom two. _Fuck_. She definitely knows what Harry’s up to. Her mum’s a PhD student for Christ’s sake, of course she’s capable of thinking critically at four years old.

Harry takes Louis’ card from his hand and his niece from his arms and spends the entire drive home masking his shame as Lila sings off the top of her lungs, _Ha-rry and Lou-is, sitt-in’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g_.

+

They go back on Monday about a weird spot on Lila’s arm. Louis brushes a finger over it and discovers it’s just a speck of chocolate from the pancakes Lila had at breakfast. He still gives Lila her lollipop though, because now it’s just amusing. He also gives Harry one, with a knowing wink and a pinch to his cheek.

“Don’t think I’m not on to you, Styles,” he hums coquettishly.

•••

It’s Friday night and Harry has given up. After Lila’s fourth trip in two weeks — this time a staged cough that magically went away as soon as Louis’d taken out the jar of sweets — the Styles Duo has decided to call it quits and let fate take control, because apparently they aren’t very good at doing much of anything. He’s not sure what either of them were expecting — for Louis to drop down on one knee and propose to Harry in the middle of his pediatric office after having not seen him for 15 years? — but they’re disappointed nonetheless that after _four_ trips Louis doesn’t even _hint_ at asking Harry out.

Harry’s life is a farce, but at least he’s got the weekend to himself. While Lila is sleeping over at a friend’s until Sunday morning, Harry is going to be drinking wine straight from the bottle and napping for the better part of the next 36 hours. He can’t even rejoice at the idea of being alone in his flat because he _misses_ his niece already, even though he’d just dropped her off two hours ago. At least she was company — fucking brilliant company, too. He doesn’t think he laughs with anyone the way he does with Lila.

It’s a quarter past eight and Harry’s at the grocery store down the street from his flat looking through shelves of discount-priced wine when he catches a glimpse of golden ankles and tattered jeans at the end of the aisle.

"Louis?" he calls out, squinting his eyes for a better view.

And it's gotta be him, because he turns around at the mention of his name and immediately makes his way over. As he steps closer Harry can see that he's smiling, that there are droopy bags underneath his eyes, and that he's dressed like a freshman in uni who's just discovered The Smiths and functions on four hours of sleep a night. Harry finds himself weak in the knees.

So much so that the basket with his groceries slips from his hand and crashes into the floor.

"Oops," he mutters sheepishly when he blinks to his senses, immediately crouching down to pick up his shit, just as Louis does the same.

"Hi," Louis breathes, both of them gripping the handle of Harry's basket and refusing to break eye contact.

It should be weird that neither of them have brought up the whole haven't-seen-you-since-we-were-kids-and-you-used-to-hold-my-hand-always thing, but in a way it isn't. Harry's not sure what that conversation would even consist of, because for the most part it was always LouisandGemma when they were younger. Harry was just the baby on the sideline, admiring and occasionally being kissed on the cheek or tickled half to death. It's been two weeks since they'd first run into each other and mostly it feels like starting all over again, the memory of their childhood like a tender touch, faint and comforting in its sensation, but not substantive enough to clutch onto and declare definite.

Harry's not sure exactly what he felt for Louis all those years, but he recalls the constants of comfort and safety and happiness, unapologetic happiness. He knows that he loved Louis, the person, for the 11 years that he was around him, the same way that he loved his mum and Gemma and even Jay, because they were good people and they took care of him. The only part he's still trying to figure out is if that love stemmed into a different, genuine kind that Harry wasn't aware of until years later. His crush on Louis was inevitable and glaringly obvious, but maybe he'd fallen in love with him also, just wasn't aware of the weight of that statement. Harry's been playing with that idea these last few days, pulse jumping like mad every time he concedes that Louis Tomlinson, despite the lack of proclamations of love and kisses, was probably his first love.

Harry feels childish, giddy, heart racing a thousand beats a minute every time his eyes have met Louis' these last two weeks. It's puppy love and it's déjà-vu.

"We should probably get up sometime soon," Louis eventually says, breaking the spell.

"Probably, yeah."

Just as Harry goes to stand with his groceries, Louis tightens his grip on the basket handle and picks it up for him. "I've got it, don't worry." Inside Harry's basket there sits two boxes of whole grain spaghetti, one large bottle of red wine, and enough parmesan for him to live off for the next year. “Getting ready for date or something?” Louis asks, taking a look inside it.

 _A date with my couch_ , Harry thinks sardonically, too caught up in himself to notice the blank look that takes over Louis’ eyes. “Just myself, actually. Lila's spending the weekend at her friend's and I've got a documentary on dolphins calling my name."

" _Dolphins_?" Louis tilts his head in surprise.

"Yeah! Gemma got me interested a while back—" he pauses, blushing. Dolphins get him excited rather quickly and sometimes he forgets to reign it in. Especially when it's Friday night and he's in the middle of a grocery store with a boy he's got a giant crush on. "It's a long story, I don't wanna hold you back."

“No, no — see, I’m genuinely curious now, about you and your dolphins. You can’t just leave me hanging like this, Curly.”

Harry spares a glance at the sixpack of beer in Louis’ free hand, the one not still holding Harry’s basket — which he does feel guilty about, but Louis doesn’t look like he’s going to give up the chivalry thing quite yet, so he doesn’t mention it. “Don’t expect you’ve got anywhere to be either?” he motions to the sixpack.

“Nah,” Louis shrugs. “S’been a long week. Pediatrics isn’t all the fame and glory they make it out to be, ya know.”

The words leave Harry’s mouth before he can even think about it; “You should come over.” And then his face goes beet red, fingers pulling at the loose strings of fabric on his trousers. “I was just gonna make some pasta and snooze on the couch, and I’m never good at portioning so I always make enough for a family of five.”

“H—”

“You wouldn’t be imposing, honestly,” Harry rushes out.

And now that the idea of Louis in flat is out there, every possible scenario runs through Harry’s mind at hyper-speed, his skin prickling with anticipation. Is it so much to ask for a night of cooking and caring for a gorgeous boy? He could make spaghetti in his sleep and there’s nothing he’d enjoy more than catching up with Louis, talking to him about dolphins, falling asleep on the couch with their limbs tangled together.

 

It all seems that much more likely when Louis lets out a sigh and shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. I’d love to spend some time with you.”

+

Harry’s flat smells like Christmas in September. That’s the first thing that Louis notices, the scent of sugar cookies and warm herbal tea faint under his nose. The second is the wild array of toys and knick-knacks and stickfigure works of art covering every inch of bare space. He remembers Gemma telling him that Harry had just moved in over the summer, but by the looks of it, Harry’s made himself quite the home in Manchester.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry apologizes sheepishly, stepping over a Lego set of the Eiffel Tower as they walk into the flat. “Lila gets… Interested in a lot of things all at once, to say the least.”

It’d only been a short walk from the grocery store to Harry’s flat, both of them having walked there in the first place, and much to Louis’ surprise they don’t live far from one another at all. Louis’ flat is only a couple of streets over, but the shop by his house is closed for renovation right now so he’d ended up at the one by Harry’s. It’s funny, he thinks, how fate works sometimes.

Louis closes the door behind him and follows Harry into the kitchen where he puts the groceries down. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like cleaning up after her, Curly, you’ve always had that whole domestic husband thing going on. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

For some reason Harry stops mid-track where he’s pulling out pots and pans from the cupboard to meet Louis’ eye across the kitchen. “You remember that?” he asks, voice going high in shock.

“‘Course,” Louis nods easily. He leans against the sink, crosses his arms. “You always used to bring me apple juice and jelly sandwiches after football practice. A man doesn’t just forget about his jelly sandwiches, mate.”

Something must click in Harry’s mind — and Louis can see it, kind of, how Harry’s face goes from brows raised in surprise to something entirely different, more determined — because he stops fussing with his pots and strides over to Louis in half a second, grabs his face in his palms, and crushes their mouths together. Harry goes in with his mouth already open, weaving his fingers into Louis’ hair and humming into his lips, urgent with his movements. It happens so quickly that Louis doesn’t realize until a few moments later that his arms are still crossed in between their torsos, immediately moves to wrap them around Harry’s small waist and pull him in until they’re pressed flushed together. Harry smiles into his mouth and bites down on his lip, so caught up in the taste of Louis that he reaches on to his tip-toes and brings them impossibly closer. His mouth tastes like strawberry bubblegum and twenty-six years’ worth of waiting, Louis thinks, and it’s wonderful.

When they pull apart Harry’s lips are dark pink and shiny, barely a breath away from Louis’. He pecks him once, twice — three, four, five times, actually, across his pillowy lips and by the corners, letting Harry catch his breath and giggle into his own. It’s the most wholesome feeling in the world and Louis doesn’t know how he went his entire life without Harry this close to him.

“Hi,” he breathes, once their hearts have steadied down and their foreheads are pressed together. He can feel Harry run the tips of his fingers across the base of his neck, the touch light, but anchoring him down so he doesn’t float away in a heap of giggles and proclamations of love. “Took us a while.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

“You and I,” Louis pauses to kiss Harry’s reddened cheek, “have a lot of catching up to.”

They spend another fifteen minutes making out in the kitchen.

+

Louis can’t cook for his life, but he’s sweet enough that it doesn’t matter. While Harry gets the sauce and meatballs together, Louis makes due with boiling water and clinging to Harry’s back. He presses kisses all along Harry’s shoulder blades, tickling him on purpose when he buries his face against his neck and nibbles at his collarbones and the edge of his jaw. He spends the entire time asking Harry to tell him stories about his childhood after Louis left, where he went to school and where he had his first kiss and what his favorite color is now. Harry draws his stories out because none of them are really that exciting — St. Paul's Prep; in the field behind the church; blue — but he likes the way Louis' body feels against his, how he curls his palms over the swell of his ribs and drags his thumbs across small slivers of skin and kisses the curls behind his ear whenever he pauses to catch a breath. It's overwhelming being at the center of Louis' attention, mostly because Louis doesn't show any inclination of tearing himself away from Harry.

It's not something Harry's going to complain about any time soon. (He never did in the past either.)

They eat dinner on the couch, glasses brimming with wine and legs folded up, facing each other and knees brushing. Louis'd taken off his jumper a while back so while they eat Harry lets his eyes roam across the smooth expanse of Louis' bare arms in his thin white t-shirt. He thinks belatedly that Louis' got the arms for tattoos, would look quite nice with them inked all over his golden skin. Maybe a bird or a compass or something nautical, Harry ponders. Louis seems like he'd do well with a ship.

Louis talks with his mouth full about med school and his five younger sisters — and the boy! he’s got a brother now! — and what brought him to Manchester (“Fate,” he answers simply). Louis tells stories completely unlike Harry’s slow drawl and monotone voice. Even with his mouth stuffed with spaghetti Louis manages to fit little jokes into all of his anecdotes, gets Harry giggling wine through his nose on more than one occasion. His voice is raspy, but gets louder or bubblier or deeper depending on the topic. Harry listens closely, despite being distracted by the way Louis licks his lips after every forkful, because Louis’ great to just sit and admire. It’s like catching up with an old friend, except Harry’s friends don’t kiss him in between stories the way Louis does.

Eventually, though, they forget about the pasta and the wine and the documentary about dolphins they were meant to watch. Harry has to stop Louis mid-sentence about the baby boy Lottie had over the summer because he can’t settle for intervaled kisses anymore.

“Lou—” he interrupts impatiently, slapping a hand over Louis’ mouth.

“Mmm?” he hums questioningly. Louis tilts his head to the side and his eyebrows sink in confusion.

He mutters something else, but it comes out indecipherable and Harry doesn’t care, doesn’t bother answering him. He moves their plates onto the coffee table and falls onto his back, pulling Louis on top of him by the collar of his shirt. Louis flops forward, steadying himself at just the last second, palms on either side of Harry’s head and waist between his legs.

“Hi,” Harry breathes coyly.

“ _Hi_ ,” Louis whispers back. “No more catching up then?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, we’re good for now. I just wanna kiss you please.”

“Insatiable,” Louis mutters under his breath just before placing his weight on his forearms and sinking down, fitting himself atop Harry’s long body. “Where was all this these last two weeks, Styles?”

He leaves kisses along the column of Harry’s pale neck, sharp teeth nibbling playfully across the edge of his jawline. Harry hums low in his throat at how good Louis’ wet mouth feels on his skin, palms skirting down Louis’ back to grab at his arse. He can barely hold back his moan when he squeezes around him and Louis is full, round in his hands. Harry pushes their middles closer and brings his legs up to wrap around Louis’ waist, panting into his hair, “Couldn't get you out of my head for two weeks.”

Louis grinds down against him, moving his hips in circles that leave Harry gasping, high-pitched and breathy. “And what would you have done if we hadn’t run into each other tonight?” he asks, latching his mouth to the base of Harry’s neck, teeth sharp and tongue laving over.

Harry answers truthfully, easily, “Would’ve come home and fucked myself thinking of you.” He waits for Louis’ choked off moan, how he snaps his hips unconsciously, before adding a quiet, “ _Again_.”

From there, something in Louis snaps and he goes from teasing, skirting round the edges, to tightening his hands around Harry’s wrists and bringing them above his head, their bodies straining against the confines of the couch. He presses himself impossibly closer, chest to chest and cocks thickening quickly in between them, both of them rutting desperately against the other. Louis makes quick work leaving a scatter of bruising love marks across Harry’s neck and collarbones before getting back to his mouth. They kiss soppily, groaning and biting at lips and licking hastily. Harry instinctively goes to weave his fingers through Louis’ hair, to push aside the fringe cascading onto his face, forgetting that Louis’ pinning him down until the other man whispers into his mouth, “Want you to ride me, love.”

Harry snaps his hips and moans brokenly, goes to sit up when he’s met with the force of Louis on top of him, muscles straining above him.

“Lou—” Harry groans, chasing after Louis’ mouth when he pulls away.

Louis’ hands move from Harry’s wrists to twine their fingers together, breath ghosting over Harry’s thick, wet lips when he whispers, “Can we?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry bites in a rush. “Please, Louis — yes.”

“Where’s your stuff?”

“Bed — underneath it.”

With that, Louis jumps off the couch and picks Harry up in his arms. Harry blinks and Louis is carrying him bridal style through the halls of his flat, asking him which one’s his room. With his brain only half working Harry points to the room on the far left and Louis all but kicks the door down to get in. Despite his haste he places Harry down gently on the center of the bed, pecks his lips sweetly before stripping his clothes off. Harry does the same and by the time he’s spread out naked, Louis’ found the lube.

“No condoms?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Haven’t had company in a while.”

He’d go red at the admission, but Louis only lights up instead, crawling onto the bed slowly.

“You and me both,” he says, smiling privately. “I’m clean, if it’s alright with you.”

Harry pulls him on top of him again, wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and smiles, the butterflies in his tummy giddy with excitement, hyper-aware of every point across his body that touches Louis’. “So am I,” he replies honestly. “I trust you.”

Louis pauses for a minute, staring down at Harry underneath him. The younger boy runs his toes down Louis‘ calf, brushes the hair out of his face and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah — I’m just. It’s weird, I’ve known you half my life and this… Doesn’t feel like the first time with you,” Louis shrugs. He leans down to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Shouldn’t be this easy, should it?”

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve had a crush on you since before I could spell my own name. I've waited long enough; can you get your dick inside me now, please?”

Louis kisses him on the mouth, laughing. “Could never say no to you.”   

Louis goes painfully slow with him, not that Harry is surprised. He kisses down Harry’s arms, across the softness of his hips, peppers his thighs with lovemarks. He gets to Harry’s ankles and pushes his legs up, fits himself in between where he begins to work his deft fingers inside him. They’re smaller than Harry’s own, but they’re thicker and stretch him wider, leaving Harry’s heart racing a thousand beats a minute.

Harry spent a good chunk of his teenage years fingering himself. There’s no simpler way to state it; that there was an endless number of nights that consisted of him in bed with his favorite, constantly empty bottle of strawberry lube, learning the in’s and out’s of his body and what felt good versus what felt brilliantly, mind-numbingly sensational. Oddly enough, he remembers the first time he touched himself and how Louis came to mind, apropos of nothing. He’d gone along with it, mind whirling with memories of the older boy and thoughts about what he looked like after all those years apart, what he would think if he saw Harry touching himself thinking about him.

And now he’s here, a decade later, in his home in Manchester with Louis three fingers deep and panting into his ear. He tightens his arms around Louis’ neck and holds him close, legs bracketing either side of his torso and forcing some friction against his aching cock. “I’m ready,” he whispers into Louis’ ear, just as the tips of his fingers find Harry’s prostate once more and brush against the bundle of nerves. “Wanna — wanna ride you, Louis, c’mon.”

He’s wet and he’s stretched open, ready to be fucked, and wastes no time getting Louis on his back so he can crawl on top of him. Louis squeezes his hips, fingers trailing down to hold Harry’s cheeks apart for him. “Give me a kiss,” he requests, one that Harry obliges to happily.

Harry wraps a hand around Louis’ cock behind him, breath hitching at the sheer width and weight of it in his palm. He thinks, momentarily, about how much better this would be if the lights were on, if he could see every inch of Louis’ golden body properly. ( _Next time_ , he tells himself.) (So, like, in an hour or two.) The head of Louis’ cock nudges at his entrance and Harry’s breath catches, overwhelmed already. It takes him a minute just to get himself together, fingers shaking in excitement, before he begins sinking down slowly. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, not bothering to stop. The stretch burns, has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, but it feels so good that Harry rushes to bottom out. Louis mutters a string of curses that Harry can’t hear because his own body is screaming, ready to burst with Louis inside of him, filling him up. He's an idiot, mostly, but Louis' body is an amalgamation of wonder and he has no self-control.

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis grunts, “never were very patient, were you?”

Harry shakes his head, panting heavily. “Sorry, sorry, s’hard to control m’self around you.”

And only once they’ve had a chuckle and Harry's ducked down for an apologetic kiss does he start moving himself, swiveling his hips to let his body welcome Louis; adjust to his. He’s teaching his body to work with Louis’ and the thought of that alone sends a rush of blood to his head.

It doesn’t take him long to start fucking down on Louis’ cock, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing in the empty room. He can hear Louis praising him, everything from _darling_ to _so fucking beautiful_ and in between; can feel the kisses Louis presses to the insides of his wrists, and doesn’t miss it when Louis begins snapping his own hips upward. It’s shaky and it’s constant and Louis fucks into him rapidly, hitting Harry’s prostate without remorse. Harry takes it and slams down even harder, building with Louis a steady rhythm that steals his breath and has his thighs shaking. He doesn't give in, though, doesn't let Louis take his thunder. He makes sure to clench around him like a vice, to grind down with every swivel of his hips. His cock smears precome against his tightened abs and he notices how Louis glances at it every so often, thick and pink and wet at the head all because of him, because of that darling smile and those baby blues.

"Touch me," Harry begs.

Louis wraps a fist around him and moves his wrist slowly, teasingly. "You're close, baby?"

Harry nods his head furiously. His face is red, his entire torso flushed a rosy pink. His cock twitches against Louis' palm and he can't believe that he's here right now, a breath away from coming into Louis Tomlinson's fist. He squeezes himself around Louis' cock, like he's trying to remind him that this is real; Louis is with him, beneath him, bringing him closer to release.

"Wanna come with you," he exhales shakily.

"Come down here, then," Louis orders, and Harry does.

He leans down and Louis chases his lips with a kiss, licking into his mouth and speeding up his wrist until Harry's eyes begin to water and he's moaning into Louis' mouth, unable to stop himself. Louis is everywhere, every touch, every spark that pulls at Harry's groin. All Harry needs is a few more thrusts at this new angle and the feeling of Louis' cock twitching inside of him before he comes. His body goes taut, muscles pulled tight as he lets himself paint Louis' fist and their chests white. As his orgasm washes over him he feels Louis come as well, pulsing hot and heavy inside of him. He collapses against his chest and relishes at how good Louis' cock feels filling him up like this, making him wet and marking him up.

He's sweaty and he's tired and he's out of breath, heavy limbed and useless on top of Louis. It feels amazing, though, like finally getting to scratch at an insatiable itch that's been eating away at him for years. He kisses Louis' cheek sleepily, refusing to move, and thanks him.

"For what?" Louis asks. He's got one hand at the small of Harry's back, kneading at the tension sitting there, and the other running through his sweaty curls, attention on the springy bits. His touches are soft, comforting, despite how fast his heart races against Harry's chest.

Harry kisses above Louis' heart, wills it to slow down. "Thank you for being here," he answers simply. "I'm so happy I found you again."

When he looks up Louis is staring back at him carefully, softly, eyes blue like a summer day. He brushes a few wayward curls from Harry's forehead and carefully begins to pull out. Harry hisses in discomfort, squeezing closer to Louis' chest. Louis gets them on their sides and pulls Harry in until the younger boy is warm against his chest and crooning into the crook of his neck sweetly. "Sorry about that. All better?" Louis asks, wrapping his arms around Harry's curled figured.

"Much."

"I'll clean you up after," Louis promises, "let me just hold you for a bit, love."

Harry doesn't need to respond to that. The way his heart skips a beat is enough of an answer. Louis understands that much and doesn't add anything else. He kisses Harry's forehead and his temple, noses through the baby curls that frame his face, and waits until Harry's gone soft in his arms to let him know that finding him all over again was the best thing that's happened to him in years.

+

Harry wakes up with his muscles sore and Louis glued to his back. He doesn’t remember drifting off, but as he checks the time on the digital clock he realizes that it’s early in the morning now, not far from sunrise. Louis’ got a leg in between his and the covers thrown over their torsos, trapping in the heat. Despite how badly his body aches for a good stretch, he’s warm against Louis and flips over to face him, resting his head on the same pillow. Up close and in the gray light of the early morning Louis’ sharp contours are soft golds and light browns, little freckles dotting his skin at random and lips kissed pink, parted for little breaths of air. Harry twirls a finger around a strand of his hair, lightly brushes it away, and kisses his forehead, the back of his eyes, the jut of his cheekbones. His lips are light, feather-like with their touch, but Louis stirs awake slowly, comes to his senses once Harry’s kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Hullo,” he hums, voice sleep-slurred and deep. He blinks slowly, nuzzling into the sheets and cocooning himself further. “What time’s it?”

“Half three,” Harry answers. “Can’t sleep anymore, I’m in the mood for a bath.”

“Do you take all your baths at three in the morning?”

“Only when I’ve got a cute boy all to myself,” he says cheekily.

Louis throws his arms over his head and stretches, eyes squeezing shut and a long yawn escaping his mouth. “You’re such a dweeb, Hazza. Just carry me there and I’ll give you the best head of your life after.”

“Deal.”

+

They fuck in the bathtub, on the kitchen floor, by the foot the couch, and once more on Harry’s bed. Their Saturday is spent in a haze of blowjobs and orgasms, naps fitted in between because apparently nothing knocks Harry out like good head and being fucked on his hands and knees. They become familiar with each other’s bodies quickly; how Harry’s palms are the perfect fit for Louis’ arse, the way Louis whimpers soft and high-pitched when he gets eaten out, how Harry’s cock twitches with even the smallest touch.

It feels like a fire, giving himself to Louis and being at the center of his world for hours. It’s more affection than he’s received in a while, so when Louis scratches at his scalp and draws nonsensical patterns against his thigh, he feels a glow begin to burn inside of him, brighter with every kiss and whispered endearment.

Saturday is spent in Louis’ arms, wrapped in Louis’ warmth, consumed by Louis’ light. It’s the longest day of Harry’s life and it feels like the very first.

+

As it turns out, Louis lives down the same street from Lila’ friend, so when Harry goes to pick her up on Sunday morning he drops Louis off first, the older man dressed in a jumper that belongs to Harry and joggers he’d had to roll up to keep from tripping. He walks Louis to his door, palm light against the small of his back and trying to hide back his grin.

“This is me.”

Harry looks up at the house and the maroon door that Louis stands in front of. “Big house you’ve got, huh?“

“I mean, yeah, I guess.” Louis bites at his lip, scratching the back of his head nervously. “The girls come to visit a lot so, you know. Big family and all. Need some room for the future as well.”

“ _Louis Tomlinson_ ,” Harry gasps dramatically, dimples breaking out. “You giant _sap_ , you’re all ready for a family and everything! Look at you! You’re blushing!”

He reaches over to pinch Louis’ cheeks, only to get his hands slapped away.

Louis huffs, face going red. “Shut up, stop it. Just go pick up your niece and leave me and my giant house alone, Styles.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Gimme a kiss before I leave, c’mhere.”

Harry pulls Louis in by his hips and seals his apology with a warm kiss, right there on the steps of Louis’ house (that he bought for the family of his dreams). _Fuck_ , Harry thinks to himself as he licks into Louis’ mouth, domesticity shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. _Louis_ shouldn’t turn him on as much as he does.

He ends the kiss reluctantly, remembering that he’d promised to be at Delilah’s friend’s house ten minutes ago, and pulls away with a sigh.

“Call me when you get home?” Louis asks, nudging his forehead against Harry’s. It’s chilly out and he’s got his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, sweater paws holding him close. “I promise I’ll invite you in for tea next time, love.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Tomlinson.”

“ _God_ ,” Louis groans, like it’s physically tearing him apart to leave Harry. “Please fucking do.”

He kisses Harry two, three more times, hastily in the windy September air, before pushing him away for good and turning around. “Go on then or Lila’s gonna end up with a new guardian for the month.”

Harry is stupidly giddy. He steals a final peck, one that catches Louis by surprise, and runs back to his car like a schoolboy in love. As he drives down the street he glances at his rearview mirror and of course Louis is still there, arms crossed on the front steps of his house and brushing his fingers over his lips. By the time Harry reaches his address Louis’ gone inside and Harry is left with just the memory of the last 36 hours.

+

The first thing that Lila asks when she gets into the car is, “Are you and Louis boyfriends now?”

Harry nearly crashes the car, so completely caught off-guard and going pale at Lila’s bluntness. “What are you talking about, Lil?”

“Charlie and I were playing football and we saw you and Tommo kissing. Does this mean you are boyfriends now? Are you gonna have a baby like Mrs. Nelson?”

Harry wants to cry because no matter what he tries, Lila always seems to be two steps ahead. It’s like having a miniature version of Gemma with him at all times, except this one can’t read yet and still thinks it’s funny to put crayons up Harry’s nostrils. How she even knows about _boyfriends_ is beyond him, but he’s definitely going to have to have a chat with her about that later.

He counts to ten in his head and wills his heart to slow down. He has nothing to be ashamed of. He is a grown man who takes part in grown, manly things, and yes, his throat is still sore from being fucked all morning, but that’s beside the point. He is an adult. He is allowed to engage in sexual activity and cuddles with his childhood crush.

This is totally fine. Everything is alright. It’s not like Lila was in the apartment whilst Louis was balls deep inside her uncle. She knows nothing, she is innocent, she is four years old. Everything is perfectly normal.

“Louis and I are just mates,” Harry tries to lie. “We were just hanging out, love.”

Lila meets his eye in the rearview mirror and raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “You kiss _all_ of your ‘mates,’ Uncle Harry?”

Lila’s been aware of Harry’s crush since the very first appointment, because her uncle is neither subtle nor any good at containing himself. So by the looks of it, she doesn’t seem to be willing to put up with any of his bullshit. She knows Things, too much for her own good.

“Well, _I_ think you look cute,” Lila huffs. “So did Charlie. And her mum.”

And for what it’s worth, Harry does find himself blushing, cheeks going pink at the thought of what him and Louis must have looked like to outsiders. “Um,” he coughs awkwardly. “Thanks, Lila. I’ll make sure to pass that along to Louis, I guess.”

Lila’s sighs happily and settles into her booster seat with a proud grin on her face, as if she’d planned this all along. She hums a quick, “Congratulations Harru,” before clearing her throat and promptly breaking out into a loud, monstrously dramatic rendition of her favorite song, _Ha-rry and Lou-is, sitt-in’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g_.

•••

The last two weeks of September go by in a blur of lunch dates in the afternoon with Louis and gossip sessions with Lila in the evenings. He catches up with Louis even further, constantly on the phone with him or texting him or Facetiming him during naptime. Every few days Lila paints Harry’s nails red for him — “Because you are in love, Uncle Harry, and red is for love and you are love,” she explains — and listens closely whenever Harry gushes about him, because the only person she adores more than her mummy and uncle is Tommo.

Which means that when Louis comes over for dinner after some of his longer days, Lila is the first to greet him at the door and the one to demand his attention all night. He never sleeps over when Lila’s home, though. As comfortable as Harry’s bed is — and as comfortable as Harry’s arms are — he admits that he hasn’t got nearly enough restraint to keep from jumping Harry’s bones when in a room alone with him. That means that any release Harry gets for the next two weeks is within the confines of Louis’ car or in the toilet stalls of whatever restaurant they’re at that afternoon. He can’t complain, though, because even when cramped and restricted to tiny spaces, Louis’ hands are still the most wonderful gift to ever grace Harry’s life. (That, and he has an excuse to leave zero space between them.)

The only thing that beats getting on his knees for Louis is getting to visit him at work, this time without the guise of a sick niece in need. He stops by occasionally and is welcomed with knowing winks from the receptionists, especially the older ones who slap his bum and congratulate him on finally getting it in with their Tommo. It’s only slightly mortifying, but it’s worth it when he gets to see Louis at work, holding newborns in his arms and tickling toddlers’ tiny feet and wiping away post-vaccine tears from all the age groups (Harry sympathizes with them the most). He’s a natural with all the kids, even the grumpy, awkward, pubescent ones that go beet red when Louis asks them about their bowel movements. It doesn’t surprise Harry that everyone Louis comes into contact with glows from just being in his presence. He's just glad that he gets to witness it so he knows it's not only him horribly affected by Louis' charm.

Louis is the sun and Harry is falling in love.

•••

Gemma gets back on a Friday afternoon early in October. Harry picks her up from the airport, has a good cry on her shoulder, and lets her collapse on his bed the second they get home like the good brother that he is. While she sleeps Harry does her laundry for her and gets a roast in the oven, goes all out for her first dinner back home while Louis picks Lila up from her friend's house after work.

Around 6:30 there comes a loud series of knocks on the front door, a distinctly small pair of fists pounding impatiently. "Harru open up!" Lila’s voice shrieks. "Hurry up! My mummy is in there! Harr—"

Harry rushes to open the door and there stands Lila in all her two foot glory, face red and cheeks windburned. "Hullo," she answers sheepishly, fists dropping to her sides. "Is my mummy here now?"

"Yes, Lil, mummy is home, but keep it down, will you? She's still tired from her flight, love." Harry steps aside and lets her in, watches as Lila takes his words to heart and moves slowly, taking off her boots and coat with extra care. "Go on and wash up for dinner, sweetie, and make sure to put your clothes in the laundry if they're dirty. And you," he turns to Louis still standing outside the door, wrapped in a deep red scarf and still in his dress shoes from work. He's beautiful, even with his hair windswept and lips chap. Harry wants to kiss him so bad. "Welcome back."

"Hi. Can I come in?"

Harry rolls his eyes and all but drags him in by the wrist. He kicks the door closed with his foot and wraps Louis up in his arms, hugging him tightly. "I missed you," he whispers.

"You saw me two days ago, babe."

"Shut up and let me take care of you," Harry grumbles. "How was work? None of the babies peed on you today, did they?"

Louis giggles, toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his coat. "Not today, thankfully. I've got, like, a four day clean sheet going so far, it's brilliant."

"Thank God. Baby pee is not exactly the best aphrodisiac, you know."

“Oh, shut up,” scoffs Louis. “I could smell like vomit and cheese curls and you’d still want me.”

Harry ignores him, heading over to check on dinner. “Keep telling yourself that, Tomlinson. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He’s getting the pineapple juice and wine out of the fridge when he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist, cold lips brushing against his earlobe. “ _You_ help me sleep at night,” Louis whispers into the crook of his neck, dropping a kiss with every word. “Can I stay the night tomorrow?”

Harry turns around in Louis’ arms, forgetting about the drinks to wrap his arms around Louis’ neck. “‘Course, yeah. Gem and Lila should be back at their place by then.” He quirks an eyebrow and bites at his lip. “Missed me already, huh?”

“Missed getting my mouth on your—”

He’s interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly by the kitchen entrance. Louis jumps back an entire foot and both their heads snap to where Gemma stands, eyes puffy with sleep and holding a smirking Lila in her arms. “Hello there lovebirds.”

“Gem—” Louis exhales. Harry looks over and finds the other man blushing and breathless, running a hand through his messy fringe. “Hi,” he shrugs. “Sorry, I—”

“Oh, don’t even bother, Tomlinson. Harry’s been talking my ear off for the last four weeks. Don’t you try your whole innocent schoolboy games with me.”

“Well,” he huffs, crossing back to where Harry stands. He twines their hands together and looks up at Harry with his green eyes bright and pink cheeks, how grateful he looks just to be allowed to hold Louis’ hand at all. “No need to hide around, it seems. Let’s have dinner.”

•••

Harry’s first night without Lila in the flat is weird. It’s cleaner, for one thing (though most of her Picasso-esque works of art are still framed and hung up), but it’s different without the pat-pat of her little feet running around or the echoes of her loud, painfully off-key voice singing along with X-Factor contestants. Delilah is a little firework constantly at sparkle in every room she enters, and without her Harry feels empty in his own home. They’d spent a month in one another’s pockets and now she’s back at her house, tucked into her old bed a good fifteen minutes away.

He’d forgotten how fast time goes by when you’re happy.

“Miss her already?”

Harry lets out a shakey breath and Louis’ arms come around him where he stands by the door of the guest room that’d become Lila’s. He tucks his chin over Harry’s shoulder and kisses his cheek, palms splaying out wide over his belly. “You’re amazing with her, angel. She’s lucky to have an uncle as great as you in her life.”

“Someone once told me I was a natural, you know.”

Louis nibbles at his earlobe playfully, mumbles around it, “Wonder who that was.”

“Just some random boy,” Harry shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Probably just wanted to knock me up and have my babies, is all.”

Louis barks a loud laugh and pinches Harry’s soft hips, tickling at his belly until the other man begins to giggle and hiccup, doubling over and trying to get away from Louis’ deft fingers. They end up on the fuzzy carpet in the center of the room in a heap of tangled limbs and breathy laughs, giggles pressed into one another's mouths.

“I wouldn’t blame the poor boy, you know,” says Louis once he’s caught his breath and they’ve settled down. He flips onto his side so that he’s face-to-face with Harry. “You’re very charming, Harry Styles. Anyone would be lucky to start a family with you.”

A lump builds in Harry’s throat and he doesn’t know how to respond to that; how to react to Louis’ dark blue eyes and his sincerity. They’ve only been back in each other’s lives for a little over five weeks and Harry’s head begins to spin, trying to wrap itself around the beautiful boy before him, who is brushing the pads of his fingers across his face, who is holding him close to his chest, who has been kind and caring and wondrous to him since his very first breath.

Harry kisses him to keep from blurting out _I love you_ and _I want you_ and _you should start a family with me_. They kiss until their lips are bruised and it’s past midnight, until things escalate and they end up coming from just grinding against one another, sweaty and spit-slick and panting. Louis carries him to his bed and cleans him up, gets him naked and tucks him into bed. Harry’s last thought before sleep takes over is whether or not he’s deserving of a future — a family? — with Louis. He hopes that he is.

•••

A few weeks later Harry wakes up in Louis’ bed lightheaded and feeling his absolute worst. “Fuck,” he groans, bringing a hand up to his mouth, praying the wave of sudden nausea to go away. He sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, palm still clutching his mouth shut. Breathing through his nose, he counts to ten, and just as he gets to his seventh Mississippi and thinks he’s alright, everything goes wrong and he finds himself running to the toilet.

He throws up what feel like half his weight, is clenching the porcelain like a vice as beads of sweat begin to build across his forehead. He’s barely aware of how long he’s been hunched over until he feels a cool, wet towel across the back of his neck and the sound of Louis’ soft, worried voice cooing, “Harry? Baby, you okay?”

Harry waits until he’s sure that’s the last of it to flush the toilet and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. _God_ , he disgusts even himself right now. He can’t imagine what Louis must be thinking. He pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face, his entire body damp with sweat and aching. His only relief comes with the cool towel Louis wipes across his bare neck and shoulders, not saying a word and waiting for Harry to speak up.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Harry mumbles into his knees. He picks his head up just slightly, but still hides behind his crossed arms.

Louis stands up to rinse the towel off and comes back to clean Harry’s heated, sticky face. “I’ve seen far worse on a daily basis, in case you’ve forgotten. Takes a lot more than a little vomit to have me running off, love.”

And maybe it’s just because he’s sick and his brain’s all fuzzy, but Harry swears that that _love_ sounds ten times sweeter than it normally does.

“Do you still feel poorly?” Louis asks, carefully running the wet towel over Harry’s features. “You could call in sick and stay here, you know. I’ll take care of you.”

“You have work, too.”

“I’ll call out.”

Harry stares at him, hair ruffled from sleep and sat on the bathroom floor arse naked, just him like. “But the _babies_ need you,” he reminds him, pouting.

“And _my_ baby needs me too,” Louis answers back. “There are other doctors and aides at the office, you know, they’ll survive one day without me. Now get up, let’s get you in the bath.”

“Lou—”

Louis doesn’t listen to him, though. He gets Harry to his feet and walks him over to the sink, waiting for him to get steady on his feet before handing him his bright pink toothbrush. “Brush your teeth, start the bath, and I’m going to go call the school for you. Can you do that, darling?”

Harry nods his head.

“Good, baby. I’m just gonna step out, but call my name if you need me, okay? I’ll only be a minute.”

“I can brush my teeth on my own, Lou,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. It’s good to know that even if he’s not well, he’s at least capable of some sarcasm. He gives Louis’ hand a reassuring squeeze and pushes him out of the bathroom.

+

Despite his initial hesitation, Harry has to admit that a good bath (and Louis) seems to be the perfect solution for his horrible morning.

Once Louis’ finished with his calls he surprises Harry by stepping into the tub and settling behind him. “Feeling better?” he asks, letting Harry lean against his chest and tip his head back on his shoulder.

“Mhm,” Harry hums.

The water in the tub is warm, if not a little hot, and pooling at Harry’s taut muscle. It’s unbelievably soothing, even making Harry sleepy all over again. Louis’ bathroom is filled with bath bombs and candles, and seven in the morning is never too early to take advantage of both, Harry had decided. As a result, the room smells of apple cinnamon and autumn, only emphasized more with the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the windows and the lights dimmed low. Harry thinks this is as comfortable as he’ll get, until he feels Louis’ thumbs slowly working at the base of his spine, kneading away at the tension. He lets out a low moan, shivering with how fucking good that feels. It’s as if Louis knows his body better than him, is better at taking care of it than Harry’s ever been.

Eyes still closed, he asks, “How are you so good at this?”

“Good at what?”

“At taking care of me,” Harry says.

Louis stops moving his hands. His voice is honest when he answers simply, “Because you’re important to me, H. I like taking care of you.”

“Thank you, by the way. I’m not sure if I said that or not, but — thanks.” He moves Louis’ arms and brings them around to settle across his stomach, placing his own above them. “ _Fuck_ , Louis, you’re so good to me.”

“Hey, come on, don’t think about it, okay? Just close your eyes and relax, we can talk about it later.”

Harry takes a deep breath and sighs. “Yeah — yeah, you’re right. We can talk later.”

+

Harry ends up falling asleep in the bath. At least, he’s pretty sure that’s what happens, because he has a faint memory of Louis carrying him to bed and drying him off. When he wakes up he’s in Louis’ bed with the shades pulled shut and his nausea long gone. He leans across the bed where Louis’ sat up, replying to emails on his laptop and drinking from a warm mug of tea, and rests his head on Louis’ thigh. With his eyelids half open Harry steals sips from Louis’ tea and lets him massage at his scalp, his words like a warm blanket holding him close.

They do end up talking, eight cups of tea and half a season’s worth of The Office later. There’s not much to say, though: Louis cares about Harry; Louis takes care of Harry; Louis loves Harry; Louis is in love with Harry.

So it’s mutual. They’ve discussed it.

•••

The nausea doesn’t go away, for some reason. A least once a week he’ll wake up running to the toilet, but other times all it takes is a whiff of certain foods and he’s going green, squeezing at Louis’ arm to clear the way or stop the car. By the time it hits November Harry doesn’t think it’s physically possible to be this sensitive to any and every piece of food he comes across. There must be something wrong with him.

And then his nipples start feeling sore; swollen and dark and thick. Luckily, it’s cold out now so he can usually hide underneath his large jumpers, but when he’s alone with Louis or when someone accidentally brushes against his chest he shrinks away, hissing is discomfort. He’s always had sensitive nipples, but now it’s more painful than pleasurable, and embarrassing, kind of, to have to ask Louis if he can just ignore his nipples when they’re in bed.

But Louis is good about it, never questions it. When Harry is hunched over and puking, Louis is right there holding his curls away from his face (he’s actually the one that starts recommending the headscarves). When Harry gets cramps in his shoulders Louis settles behind him and massages him thoroughly, until he’s sated and loose-limbed and sleepy. He buys Harry the softest sweaters for his sensitive skin; doesn’t even tell Harry about them, just hangs them up in his closet and lets it be at that. Louis is quiet about it, but he is constant and caring and knows every way to keep Harry from breaking apart.

It’s not until a few days later that Harry starts piecing things together as well.

•••

Harry calls Gemma during naptime on a Wednesday in the middle of November, sobbing his eyes out because there’s something wrong with him and he thinks he knows, but he’s terrified to admit it. He’s hiding in the bathroom, on the floor and leaning against the wall, holding his phone to his ear with a shaky hand. Gemma picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, H, you okay?”

“Um,” Harry croaks out, sniffling. “N-no, actually.”

Gemma’s voice gets high, panicky on the other end of the line. “Harry? Oh God, honey, are you okay? What’s wrong — what happened?”

“Gem, I — _fuck_ , I ruined _everything_ , Gemma, I messed up so bad.”

Gemma tells him to stay put, that she’ll be right over in half an hour and that she loves him. Harry ends the call and buries his face in his knees, spending the last twenty minutes of naptime bawling his eyes out in a toddler-sized bathroom of a daycare center.

+

“Are you gonna say it or should I?”

Harry nudges his head toward Gemma’s shoulder and sighs, staring at the empty room before them. All his little babies have gone home and Lila’s still at school rehearsing for the Christmas play next month. It’s just him and Gemma, lying on their backs on the Magic Carpet, staring up at the ceiling. Harry places a palm over his belly. Well, not _just_ him and Gemma, technically.

“I haven’t taken a test yet, though. Or gone to a doctor. I don’t — I don’t know how I feel about this, Gem.”

“Harry, don’t be ridiculous, you’ve always wanted children,” she says incredulously, sitting up. “You _know_ how you feel about this. You’ve always known how you’d feel about this moment. You’re just scared, babe, but you’re happy underneath that, aren’t you? Isn’t this what you’ve wanted for so long?”

Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, can’t bear to look at his sister with his eyes pooling up like this. His voice is shakey when he confesses the thought that’s been eating away at him all morning. “I don’t want Louis to hate me for this.”

“Oh, H,” she coos, immediately laying back down to pull Harry into her arms protectively. “That boy is completely gone for you, love, he could never hate you. Not for this. He loves you too much to ever hate you. You mean the world to him, Harry.”

Harry sniffles against his sister’s shirt, thinking for a second about how he’ll definitely have to wash it for her with the slobbery, wet mess he’s made of it. He can barely breathe when he goes to speak up again, hiccuping back thick sobs. “What if he l-leaves me, th-ough? M’not strong like y-you, Gem, I can’t — I can’t do this on my own. What if he runs — off — like Ben did, w-with you?” His eyes are so wet with tears that he can’t see anymore, can barely hear his own voice over the sound of his sobs. He’s a mess and he can’t remember the last time he cried this hard, if he’s ever cried this hard.

“Harry, listen to me,” says Gemma with a stern voice. She puts a bit of space between them and gently wipes the tears away from his eyes. “Louis loves you. Louis’ loved you for a very long time, the same way you’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. Ben was — he never _loved_ me, Harry, he barely even _liked_ me. He was a drunken mistake; we hooked up _one_ time and he ran off when I told him I was pregnant with Lila. Don’t ever compare what I had with Ben to what you have with Louis. You both deserve so much more than that — your baby deserves so much more than that. You and Louis are the complete opposite of what Ben and I were.”

 _Baby_ , Harry thinks. He’s going to have a baby. He’s going to have a baby with _Louis_ , if he can ever get himself to get off this carpet and purchase a pregnancy test or ten. There’s a human being growing inside of him at this very moment that is half Louis, half him, and half the size of a blackberry right now. He’s getting dizzy just thinking about it.

“Can I stay at yours for the night?” Harry asks his older sister, too self-conscious to meet her eye.

What were the chances that both the Styles kids would get knocked up in their twenties by two Yorkshire lads? His poor mum’s going to have a heart attack at the rate they’re at.

“Of course you can stay, Hazza,” Gemma assures, kissing the top of his head. “You can stay for however long you need.”

+

Harry ends up needing all of Thursday and Friday. Part of him wants so badly to call out of work and crawl into bed — preferably Louis’ — and sleep the next few months away, but he can’t do that because he can’t bear to be alone with his thoughts right now. On Wednesday night he grabs an overnight bag and decides to spend the rest of the weekend at Gemma’s, distracting himself by playing with Delilah and peeing on pregnancy tests every few hours. They keep coming out positive, like both Harry and Gemma knew they would, but for some reason he keeps drinking and peeing and crying. He’s not asking for negatives, he knows that too, he’s just hoping he’ll gather the courage to go to Louis about it soon.

Louis texts him on Wednesday night asking if he’s still not feeling well and needs Louis to come over. Harry gets weepy, but somehow still manages to send him a reassuring _Doing okay, spending the week at Gem’s xx_ followed with ten different heart-related emojis (because as sad and terrified as he is, more than anything he just wants to be held and kissed by his boy, taken care of like only Louis knows how).   

And of course, fate seems to share the sentiment.

•••

Lila wakes up on Saturday morning with a fever too high for Harry to stay calm. He finds her in bed, whimpering uncomfortably and gripping at her duvet a few hours after Gemma’s already headed out to the university.

“Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Harry walks into her room quickly, settling down on the end of her bed. When Lila doesn’t respond his worry begins to bubble up and he presses the back of his hand against her forehead, not surprised when he finds her skin burning up. _Shit_ , he thinks. “How are you feeling, Lil? Can you sit up for me?”

Lila shakes her head weakly and pulls the covers up higher, mumbles something about feeling too cold and also too hot all at once. Everything is uncomfortable and gross and Harry can see that, can see her eyes pooling up in discomfort. He wants to make it better for her, to relieve her of her pain even the slightest bit, but he knows there’s only so much he can do with a fever.

He excuses himself from the room and steps out to call Gemma and let her know what’s happened. Gemma’s voice is calm, clear on the other end of the line in a way that Harry doesn’t think his voice will ever be, if and when his baby gets sick (he only lets himself wonder for half a moment what Louis’ voice would sound like, if he’d be as good as Gemma is). He doesn’t know how Gemma does it, but she guides him through exactly what he needs to do to make Lila as comfortable as possible until she gets back home. And when Harry ends the call he feels oddly prepared, calmer and more confident.

He can do this, he can take care of his niece. He watches over children for a living and he’s going to be a father. Harry was made for this. Harry can do this.

+

Harry’s in the kitchen grabbing Lila a cup of juice when he hears the doorbell ring. He puts the cup down and closes the fridge door, heads over to the foyer expecting to find Gemma without her key or something.

Except he opens the door and there stands Louis, shivering in the November cold and pink-cheeked.

“Hi.”

“Louis—”

“Gemma called me and asked me to come over?” he rushes out in confusion. “She said Lila wasn’t well?”

A gush of wind blows into the house and Harry shivers, realizes belatedly that Louis’ still standing out in the cold like a stranger. “Shit, yeah — sorry, sorry, come in.”

Louis steps inside and pulls his beanie off his head, shaking out flurries of snow from his floppy hair. (Harry watches with a heavy heart, wondering if their baby will have Louis’ hair — and he really fucking hopes so, hopes their little Bug takes on every one of Louis' beautiful features.) "Where is the little peanut anyway? I haven't seen her in a while, is she okay?"

"She's got a fever," Harry explains. "Her temperature's a bit high. I think she may start crying any minute now." He hangs Louis' coat up for him and begins leading the way to Lila's room, even though he knows Louis' been here a thousand times before him. "I gave her some medicine so she's knocked out right now, but..." Harry opens the door slightly, careful not to make too much noise.

"I can go in and check on her right now, if you want? She'll probably fall right back asleep by the looks of it."

"Um, yeah, okay. I'll go make you a cuppa."

Just as Harry steps aside to let Louis in, the other man quickly grabs his wrist and stops him for a moment. Harry looks up and Louis is standing there, still in his dressed up, pee-stained (Harry guesses the clean sheet is no more) work clothes, the softest look on his face; eyes crinkled by the corners and chapped lips quirked in a small smile. Harry wants to kiss him. Harry wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

"Are you feeling well, too?" Louis whispers. He brings a cold hand up and brushes Harry's cheekbone with the back of his fingers. "I haven't heard from you since Wednesday. Sorry I haven't dropped by, it's flu season and everyone at the office has been sick. Anyway, it doesn't matter. How are you, love? Is your nausea still bothering you?"

Harry unconsciously finds himself taking a step closer, nuzzling into Louis' touch. He tries to keep his voice as collected as possible when he speaks. "It's getting better," he lies. "I'm okay."

And Louis sees right through it, doesn't even bother pretending like he doesn't. He sighs and drops his hand, says, "I'll go check on Lila, but me mum has got a great recipe for a green juice that should take care of that for you. I'll whip it up for you when I'm done, don't worry." He steps up on his toes and presses a small peck to Harry's lips. "I'll be right out."

With that he steps into Lila's bedroom and Harry is left standing there, frozen in his spot and reduced to a soppy mess. He lets himself watch Louis for a moment, as he sits down on Lila's bed and she slowly stirs awake. He watches Louis brush away her sweaty curls, listens to him coo her name so softly, and decides to leave them be when his eyes begin pooling up because it's too much to see Louis with a small child when he's got their own growing inside of him.

He's leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of tea in his hands — caffeine-free; Gemma had gone out and bought some for him the other night — when Louis comes in sometime later, froggy stethoscope long gone and the first few buttons of his pale blue dress shirt undone. Harry can see some of his chest hair and the jut of his collarbones, wants to fuck him and cry at the same time. Louis makes his way over and grabs the mug meant for him on the counter, the scent of his vanilla body wash and faint cologne making Harry's toes curl in his fuzzy socks.

He comes back to his senses when Louis steps back and takes a sip of his tea, hums in approval and says something about Harry being the only person he'll ever trust to make him a proper cuppa. He puts his mug down and unconsciously brings his hands up to his lips, pulling and pinching at it out of habit. "How was Lila?" he manages to ask.

"As good as she can be, right now. She's going to get irritated and uncomfortable soon, but she'll just have to sweat that out. A fever once in a while is actually good for your body."

Harry lets out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank God. I don't know how you do that for a living every day, seeing all those kids sick and in pain. I can't do it."

"Well they're not _always_ sick, babe. Sometimes they just stop by because they've got cheeky uncles who want to flirt."

And even like this, when Harry is close to tears and ready to collapse, Louis is still able to make him laugh, even if it’s at himself. Harry lets out a wet chuckle at the memory of himself a little over two months ago when he’d first realized who Lila’s pediatrician was. He can still feel how sweaty his palms had gotten, remembers how he had to sit down just to catch his breath, because a decade and a half had left Louis looking absolutely divine. Even now, Harry looks up at him with blurry vision and his breath still catches at the sharp angles and soft curves of Louis; his entire body, existence, a work of contrast of and wonder.

Just as the tears begin to flow Louis scoops him up in his arms, covering Harry in warmth and safety. He lets Harry curl up and bury his face into the crook of his neck, doesn’t pester him with questions and just runs his hands through his curls, lets him know that he’s _darling_ and _angel_ and _love_. It only makes Harry sob harder, surprised that he’s even capable of producing tears after the last few days that he’s had. He squeezes his arms around the crisp fabric of Louis’ shirt and hiccups into his neck, finds release in the safety of Louis’ arms.

He loves Louis. More than he’s ever known how to love anyone else, he loves Louis with his entire core, doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop at the rate he’s at. He loves Louis and he wants a family with Louis and he wants the rest of his life with Louis, doesn’t think he could handle anything less. He doesn’t want to drive Louis away, doesn’t want a slip-up from two months ago to be the reason he loses the love of his life.

“Louis, I’m pregnant.”

The words come out on their own, so suddenly that Harry barely registers he’s said them until Louis’ arms tighten around him and the other man whispers a soft, “I know, darling.”

Harry stills, breath catching and heart stopping. He’s afraid to speak, afraid to even think.

Louis notices his shock and ends up chuckling, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve spent years around pregnant people and newborns, sweetheart. I can tell when someone’s carrying.”

“Oh,” Harry squeaks. He can’t believe he thought Louis wouldn’t notice. How ridiculous was that of him, to assume that a _doctor_ — a _pediatrician_ , the father of his baby, the person who’s taken care of him for two months, would be oblivious to his pregnancy.

“You’re not upset, are you darling?” Louis takes a step back to look him in the eyes. For the first time in two months Harry sees a flash of genuine worry in his eyes, tinged with guilt and sorrow. “Oh, shit — I should have said something, H, I’m so sorry, this is—”

“You don’t want to run off?”

Louis stops mid-panic, eyes wide in horror. “What? Harry, why would you even think that?” His hands come up to cup Harry’s face, taking a step closer and forcing them to look into each other’s eyes. “I love you, Harry, and you know that. You’re the father of my _child_ , H, you’re — everything.”

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat. “Lila’s biological father left Gemma when he found out she was pregnant.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want our baby to have just one parent. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Louis swears. “You won’t,” he kisses Harry’s cheeks, “you won’t,” Harry’s forehead, “you won’t,” and every inch of Harry’s face; peppers it with promises of fatherhood and a future together. When Harry’s caught his breath Louis kisses him, soft and slow at first, but quickly heating up and becoming emotional, Louis trying to express with his lips just how fucking much he wants this; Harry and this life and their baby. “I love you,” he breathes between kisses. “I love you so much, you mean the world to me.”

Harry takes a deep breath and kisses Louis back. Louis Tomlinson, the same boy he used to take jelly sandwiches and juice to after his football practices, who would hold his hand on the swings and leave dandelions in his hair. Fifteen years later and Louis Tomlinson is still the one.

\+  

Later that day, after Lila’s woken up and Harry’s given her a bath and Gemma’s come home, congratulated the two of them, Louis and Harry find themselves spread across the couch, the waterworks from the morning long gone and replaced with bubbly excitement. Louis gets Harry on his back and crawls down between his legs until he’s facing Harry’s belly. He pulls Harry’s jumper up and exposes the soft skin of his stomach, his tiny bump barely visible but there nonetheless.

“What do you think, H? Boy or girl?”

Harry runs a hand through Louis’ hair and shrugs. “I don’t care. Could be a pumpkin and I’ll love ‘em all the same.”

Louis looks up at him through his eyelashes, smirking. “You’d be okay with having a pumpkin baby with me, Harry Styles?” He ducks his head back down, mouth close to Harry’s belly button, and whispers to their bump, “Did you hear that, little flower? Your daddy’s going to love you no matter what, even if you come out looking like a pumpkin.”

“Lou—”

“— Or a football, or a munchkin, or a—”

“Be nice,” Harry chides, pinching Louis’ cheek playfully. He’s grinning though, heart racing from just watching Louis speak to their baby. “Our little flower is very impressionable right now, you know.”

“Which is why they’ve gotta know that we love ‘em very much,” Louis hums, peppering Harry’s belly with kisses. He splays his palms wide, just about covering the whole bump, and lets out a breathless chuckle. “You’re carrying our baby inside you, Harry,” he says in awe. He shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around it, but it doesn’t seem to work. “ _Shit_ ,” he curses, immediately following it with an apology and ten thousand more kisses.

As Louis goes on to whisper quietly to their little flower, barely the size of a blueberry right now, chatting about what their nursery will look like and how Louis will take them to United matches every weekend, Harry sinks into the cushions and relaxes, thanking his lucky stars that he gets to have Louis in his life, share this experience with him — _create a life_ with him. He doesn’t know what he did in his past life to be this lucky, but fate seems be on their side, he thinks.

He’s thankful for that most of all.

**Author's Note:**

> i fucked up
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.tornorrows.tumblr.com)


End file.
